


Pink and Emerald and Cigarette Smoke

by toeskater91



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Angry Kissing, F/F, She/Her Pronouns for Dagon (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toeskater91/pseuds/toeskater91
Summary: Dagon, the chief administrative assistant for the customer service division, and Michael, the chief administrative assistant for human resources, both take their smoke break in the same grimy alley. It's all business, just keeping an eye on one another and standard banter, nothing personal, right?
Relationships: Dagon/Michael (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	Pink and Emerald and Cigarette Smoke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFallenCaryatid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenCaryatid/gifts), [Thestarlitrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thestarlitrose/gifts).



> This stemmed from a discord server-wide attempt at the name + color + aesthetic mood board image search, I ended up with a lovely pink that screamed Dagon and TheFallenCaryatid had a lovely green one that screamed Michael and together they screamed human au. Enjoy!

In any bustling city center and any business corridor sits the hidden alleys in between buildings that tower far above any trees that have been allowed to remain. There’s nothing truly unique about any of the alleys, this one has four dumpsters, three of which are overflowing and haven’t been emptied in weeks. That one has cardboard boxes stacked in the structure of a fort while individuals huddle together at night to try and remain sheltered. The one that sits next to the tallest corporate office building, however, has a fence with a gate to restrict access.

The alley next to the Celestial Solutions corporate office building is not special. The fence restricts access to a loading dock and a set of dumpsters. There are few entrances into the office building, all with key card swipes to restrict access. This week there’s also a set of pallets stacked from a delivery and awaiting pickup.

Currently leaning against the building, in the shadows between the fence and the loading dock, stands the chief administrative assistant for the customer service division of Celestial Solutions. This is the self-proclaimed Lord of the Files simply known as Dagon. If one is not aware of who Dagon is, there are many incorrect assumptions to be made, which would cause someone to be instantaneously be crucified for via paperwork if they ever managed to reach to Dagon’s ears.

She stands against the wall, taking a drag of a non-descript cigarette, wearing something non-descript in shades of grays and black and just barely considered corporate casual, except for her jacket. Said jacket, is a shiny pink satin affair with the word princess stitched across the back. Despite the shine from the satin, it’s well-worn and the last date through the washer unknown with bets hedging back to the factory if the dinge and grime creeping up the elastic at the wrists and waist up to their torso -is any indication.

The jacket is a trap, a very efficient one at that. Dagon is not some bubbly, peppy, or delicate soul announcing their need for a prince or a rescue to the world. One word of how lovely the color is or how sweet and young she must be, or anything else equally or more patronizing and they’ll be done for.

She will stare and when her lips pull back into a sinister smile, it will seem as if she has too many teeth that are far too sharp for her face. The next thing the offender knows and they’re holding a half sheet of paper produced from said jacket’s pocket. The water-stained (they hope) paper details all the requirements their formal written apology must include, from the formatting to the deadline (always Monday at noon) and the PO Box address listed below it must be mailed to.

For some reason, this assignment, which can be nothing but necessary and required from the state of that sharp smile, always seem to be issued on a Saturday or Sunday evening, which has led to the post office employees making a game over how many strangers will be begging them to deliver it before the noon sharp deadline.

Nothing outside of work brings greater satisfaction than a grown adult panicking over a high school detention essay on steroids that must also be notarized, properly formatted, and processed by a government agency on an impossible to meet timeline.

However, these assignments pale in comparison to what she does to people in the office building. There’s a reason that no client, customer, or employee has ever successfully scheduled a meeting with the Chief of Customer Service, Beelzebub. The unending list of necessary forms, signatures, and deadlines have never all aligned for a soul to succeed in meeting with Beelzebub.  
Well, no one besides the CEO and those Beelzebub personally sets up meetings have had successful meetings.

With a deep drag, Dagon finishes her current cigarette, stamping it out under her boot before pulling out her phone and scrolling, not willing to go back inside and return to work, just yet.

Another pair of footsteps enter the alley, the unmistakable click and clack of heels on the damp hard ground. Dagon snorts without looking up, already knowing there’s only one person who comes out here in that kind of footwear.

“Careful, you’ll stain your pretty little designer pumps out here with the filth.”

The eye roll and glare combination that is directed at Dagon would cause a sensible individual to cower at Michael’s feet, a brave person to run away, and a child to start crying uncontrollably. Dagon pays no mind, laughing at something on her phone before scrolling on, ignoring the other.  
Michael is dressed in an emerald green pantsuit, a pristine white blouse, and a pristine pair of white designer pumps. On her suit jacket is clipped an almost garish set of wings, shining bright and silver. Her hair is perfectly coiffed and styled, not a strand out of place, or even able to move. As the chief administrative assistant for human resources of Celestial Solutions, she must always be prepared for a meeting with a lawyer or some news personality trying to mar their company’s good name.

It’s not directly Michael’s fault the company standards are so high and hard to meet, with the punishment for failure being so steep. Just because she ensures all managers follow the strictest path with reprimands and punishments doesn’t mean its directly her fault after all. She’s just ensuring everyone complies with the pathways outlined in the company policies and procedures effectively and immaculately.

She moves in front of Dagon, not touching grunge in the alley except where unavoidable on the soles of her shoes. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes that somehow screams designer. Dagon manages to stealthily look over the top of their phone, unable to stop themselves from snorting when Michael pulls out one of the cigarettes.

“Is that a fucking gold filter? Shit Michael, are normal cigarettes too undignified for your upper echelon sensibilities?”

“Just because you lack taste, doesn’t mean the rest of us do,” Michael spits out, as she reaches into her opposite pocket, frowning as her fingers brush against nothing but her mobile phone. Dagon raises an eyebrow and grins that too sharp of a smile, stuffing their mobile and hands into their jacket’s pockets.

“Uh-oh, did Miss Proper Procedures forget the second most important part of a smoke break?”

Michael closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, grounding herself, calming herself, this is fine. This is another sign she should quit; it’s an undignified habit that puts her in contact with undignified people. She stops herself from crushing the cigarette clutched between her fingers as she pulls the box back out and flips open the lid.

“Not a misstep, just a reminder that this entire habit is beneath me,” the grind of Michael’s teeth as she keeps herself in check is almost deafening. 

She hears the click of a lighter and heat near her fingers, eyes snapping open to see Dagon leaning in, the fish scale lighter open, its flame flickering and dancing across the tip of Michael’s designer cigarette. Dagon is staring at her with that too sharp grin, an eyebrow cocked in question, winking as she pulls back from Michael’s space, lighting herself up a new cigarette and taking a deep drag.

“Aw, don’t quit on me know wankwings. Who will commiserate with me on the unfettered joy of watching the hope drain out of a fresh new intern’s eyes if you quit all this and leave me out here all alone?”

Michael brings the cigarette to her lips, taking a deep drag, pulling back to blow out the smoke, a pristine lipstick imprint on the golden filter, the faintest hint of a smirk twitching at the corner of her lips.

“Well I certainly can’t let your lot have the monopoly out here, someone’s got to keep an eye on you and for some reason, no one else will, so it must fall to me,” she takes another drag, not breaking eye contact with Dagon, delighting in the red tinge her face is taking on.

“Can’t let my lot have this? This a filthy little alleyway? Oh, so sorry, thought this would be right up where you wanted us after taking over the third-floor breakroom and turning it into another mediation space with nothing fucking in it!” Dagon scowls, still bitter at the loss. That room had the best coffee pot and she will swear on her sharpest letter opener that blowhard Sandalphon stole it during the renovation before she could get to it.

Michael almost looks apologetic, almost. Instead, she laughs, it’s a cross between a chime and a jeer somehow all rolled up into one.

“Oh, but we do need that mediation space, it’s your boss who started that new process, not us. Only fitting to take over what was yours when your lot added to my impeccable procedures with something new and unnecessary. I’d say it wasn’t personal but…”

Michael takes a long drag and blows the smoke right into Dagon’s face.

“It most definitely was.”

The shade of red on Dagon’s face as they choke on the smoke that even smells designer is an impressive sight. The sheer rage building behind their eyes, maybe it was a step too far, but Michael doesn’t do maybes. She deals in absolutes, there’s no back-peddling now. It’s not as if it’s the first bad choice she’s made concerning Dagon, she has a feeling it’s not going to be the last either. She shrugs, giving Dagon her most flawless and lifeless smile as she squashes the fire from her cigarette against the wall of the building before letting it drop to the ground. 

Dagon’s sputtering and coughing and full of rage, how dare Michael. There’s an unwritten code among the executive assistants across all the departments, nothing is ever personal between them. Things might get personal between the chiefs, the CEO, the CFO, and even the janitorial staff. But nothing is ever supposed to get personal between them. It’s the only reason they are all able to pull out the miraculous last-minute saves and keep the order, whatever of the order of their department is. A long-standing agreement, which Michael intentionally broke.  
All the executive assistants have had to stab each other in the back over the years, it’s just how -things are done. But it’s never personal, it’s never intentional.

“I swear Michael, I swear to someone, to anyone, you’re going to regret this! We don’t do personal, not against each other!”

Dagon throws their cigarette to the ground and stomps into Michael's space, raising a hand to grip the emerald suit jacket, eyes hard, smile sharp.

“Just you wait, I think that employee use gym with a fantastic view will be my perfect new filing room.”

Michael stumbles with Dagon’s hands on her jacket as she’s crowded back against the disgusting alley wall. Dagon’s breathing heavily as they crowd into Michael’s space, growing even more enraged as Michael’s face just stays tightly composed, neutral almost. Michael lightly tuts when it appears Dagon doesn’t know what to do next.

“Oh Dagon, don’t start what you can’t finish,” before Dagon can snarl out a response Michael reaches up and grasps the others chestnut hair with her perfectly manicured nails and pulls back, forcing Dagon’s head back, she hisses and releases her grip on Michael’s jacket, fumbling up to pry off Michael’s hands.

“Fucking let GO wankwings!” Dagon is snarling and fuming. Michael is keeping an iron grip on the other's hair, pulling sharply again causing Dagon’s body to go stiff as she hisses at the painful sensation. She stares at Dagon for another moment, could be a second, could be a year, before she smirks. Dagon’s got a grip on her hand and is successfully starting to pry her fingers open as Michael leans in and presses her lips to Dagon’s.

Everything stops. Michael keeps her lips to Dagon’s. Dagon’s arms drop from trying to pry Michael’s fingers out of her hair, everything just stops.

Then, Dagon grabs at Michael’s suit jacket as she pushes the other against the alley wall again, kissing her hard. Sharp teeth nipping at the other's lips, the taste of lipstick mingles with the cigarette smoke, and something that is uniquely Michael, and its everything she can do not to moan into Michael’s mouth as their tongues brush.

Michael wants to pull away and chastise Dagon for backing her into the disgusting wall again. That, however, would require whatever is happening right now to stop, and that’s the last thing Michael wants right now. She changes her grip in Dagon’s hair, giving herself a better angle to pull on, smirking as she manages to draw out some sort of a cross between a moan and a groan from Dagon.

The smug satisfaction doesn’t last as she all but yelps into the kiss as sharp teeth clamp down on her tongue, definitely drawing blood. Michael tugs sharply on Dagon’s hair in retaliation and they break apart panting, with a groan Dagon leans in and rests her forehead on Michael’s shoulder.

“What the fuck…” Dagon’s eyes are shut, hands still gripping at Michael’s jacket, but there’s no anger, it’s just an anchor to try and ground themselves. Michael relaxes her grip in Dagon’s hair and starts lightly petting it, much to her confusion.

“Well obviously it’s your fault, I work in human resources, you can trust me not to initiate something so vulgar,” the snort Dagon lets out as she breaks out into laughter, head still on Michael’s shoulder.

“Vulgar was it? Pretty sure those were your hands tugging my hair, could count as assault.”

“As if you drawing blood doesn’t?”

“Oh, you noticed? Something Michael notices must be something Michael likes,” Dagon grins and leans in, placing her lips against Michael’s throat now, nipping lightly down it. Michael stiffens at the sensation before yelping as Dagon bites down hard.

“No marks,” Michael hisses out even though it’s definitely too late for that. Dagon chuckles and tongues at the bite to soothe it over before pulling back looking smug.

“Aw, that’s no fun, what’s a matter Michael, can’t handle it?” Dagon’s soaking this in, basking in the upper hand she has at the moment. Too bad it’s a short-lived bask as Michael grabs the front of that Princess jacket and spins Dagon around slamming her up against the wall and pressing her lips back to Dagon’s harshly.

Dagon’s arms move up and twine around Michael’s neck as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss as Michael’s move down Dagon’s side to grip her hips, pressing her whole body against the others. Dagon attempts to take back some control and manages to shove her leg between Michael’s when a shrill and piercing beeping fills the air.

The two women break apart panting and looking panicked before they realize the source. It’s Tuesday afternoon, the trash company is here to take care of the dumpster. Michael steps back, straightening her jacket and grimacing at the wrinkles left on her pristine clothes, no even wanting to think of the alleyway grime that must be on her back. Her lips are kiss swollen and irritated due to the other’s liberal use of teeth, a red mark blooming on her neck from the bite. 

Dagon stays settled against the wall, watching Michael with a hungry look in her eye, her sharp smile not quite so sharp when her lips are so freshly kissed and hair mussed.

The beeping stops as the trash truck door opens and someone hops down, walking towards the fence to open it up. Dagon grins at Michael as she walks away, phone out, seeing what she can cancel to leave early since her clothes are in no shape to return. Dagon pulls out a fresh cigarette and lights it right as Michael is swiping her badge at the door to go back inside.

“Michael,” she takes a long drag of the cigarette as Michael turns to stare, raising an eyebrow.

“You want to keep making things personal, you know where to find me, you are in HR Afterall,” Dagon winks and she swears there some type of blush across the other's cheeks as she turns heel and heads back into the office building, slamming the door behind her.

Dagon finishes her cigarette, grinning like a cat who got the canary. After all, the fearsome human resources chief administrative assistant is walking around the office with clothes grimy from where Dagon pushed her up against the wall and they kissed. No one will notice a bit of extra grime on Dagon’s jacket, another part of the charm it brings. Plus, Michael’s got Dagon’s bite on her neck as clear as can be. Dagon licks her lips and grins. It may have been worth losing the coffee pot and breakroom if this is how everything is going to play out.

She stamps out her cigarette, runs a hand through her hair to attempt to straighten it from where Michael was grabbing, and tugs on her jacket before stomping back into the building.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to thestarlitrose for encouragement while I was writing this!


End file.
